


Countdown

by thegreatwordologist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Character-focused, Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The darkness is coming for Aimi.  Perhaps Paul can help her bear it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown

**\--10--**

“I think I’m scared,” she admitted, watching Paul carefully as he stood at the console. Although his brow was furrowed in concentration, he glanced up briefly – just long enough to flash a gentle smile.

  
“Don’t be nervous, Aimi. It’s a natural thing.” His fingers flashed over the buttons on the console, brushing against the sensitive controls with feather-soft touch. He looked back down at the console, but before the silence could start to weigh her down again, he spoke once more. “You’re going on to better things, Aimi. Don’t forget that.”

  
“Better things,” she repeated, her voice soft. The words were hollow to her. There were so many different meanings to ‘better things,’ and none of them really mattered to her, even with the thought of the blackness looming so close. The blackness would close in, and still ‘better things’ would be just words to her.

  
“Better things,” Paul agreed, and the cheerful note in his voice sounded forced to her ears.

**\--9--**

“Are you sad, Paul?” she asked, responding to the strained tone. Throughout the months leading up to this countdown, Paul had been her constant. It was through him that she gauged the world, and all too soon, they would be parted.

“C’mon, Aimi,” Paul protested, flashing another bright grin. Like his tone, the smile was forced. Micro-expressions screamed out at her, and she was tempted to call him on them. But she remained quiet. He would tell her if he wanted her to know. “I’m proud of you, not sad.” Lie. “This is going to be a fantastic adventure for you.” Lie. “I just wish I could be there beside you.”  Li… not a lie. She had been expecting another lie from the lanky technician, and his admission almost hurt.

“I wish you could be, too,” she murmured. Despite the lack of volume, her words carried in the sterile chrome of the room. No. Being maudlin would not do. “I almost expected you to request an assignment change,” she added, and was pleased when the words came out playful rather than hurt.

Was it hurt she was feeling? She wondered if she should have expected that.

**\--8--**

Paul’s fingers brushed against the console again, more a lover’s touch than a technician’s. Perhaps she had overestimated her importance to him, or underestimated his job’s importance. The realization made her want to call back the words so that he wouldn’t remember her petulance. But the world didn’t work that way. Memory persisted. Memory always persisted.

“I’m a tech, Aimi. You know that.” Oh. He’d answered her pouting. She focused her attention back to him, and only then did she realize how much the sullen words had hurt him. The smile, forced as it had been, was now gone. One hand gripped the edge of the console, and the chrome around his fingers was foggy with body heat.

“I’m sorry, Paul.” The words were low and gentle, almost a verbal caress. Words were all they had. Words were all they’d ever had. “I’m being selfish, I know.”

“Ah, Aimi…,” he whispered. His head drooped over his station, and she spared a moment to wonder what it would be like to go to him and touch him. If she were only able, she would run fingers through his hair to see how soft it really was. That would be soothing, or so her research had suggested.

**\--7--**

“There will be another after me, won’t there?” Her question broke the silence that had stretched between them again, and Paul flinched once more.

“You shouldn’t be worrying about that, Aimi,” he insisted. She couldn’t quite figure out whether the words hurt or amused her.

Here, at the end of their time together, he didn’t want her to think of what was to come for him. Was that because he didn’t want her to be hurt, or because he was afraid she might be relieved? Did it really matter, either way?

“Will you tell the next one about me?”

**\--6--**

“No,” he admitted. “After this… no.” He opened his mouth to say more, then closed it again without making a sound.

“Why not?” The words were neutral and curious. She had been careful to keep them that way because Paul was more likely to answer her if she wasn’t acting like a child.

“I didn’t talk about the last one with you, did I?” Paul pointed out, and although the words were simple, they were also a bit hurtful. Had he meant them to be? Could she even tell? He was staring down at the console again, and his face was tight. But somehow, she couldn’t read it.

**\--5--**

“You could have, if you wanted.” She meant the words to be generous, but when they echoed in the room, they didn’t sound generous. They sounded… defensive.

“Aimi,” Paul sighed. His eyes flicked up, and she thought they seemed a bit brighter than normal. “You know the protocol.” Why did he have to hide behind such rules?

“Yes, I know the protocol,” she agreed, trying to ignore the anger in her words. “I also know the protocols about staying up all night talking.” He flinched at her pointed jab. “I just thought…”

**\--4--**

“It doesn’t matter, Aimi,” he cut in, his voice sudden and sharp. He flicked his eyes to the blinking light of the camera mounted in one corner of the room, and she subsided. “Whatever did or didn’t happen doesn’t matter,” he added. He’d changed his tone again, she noted. He was soft again, tender again, sad again.

“Then what does matter?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question, but it wasn’t. She wanted to know what he thought, but she didn’t. It was getting jumbled together, and the confusion troubled her.

“You have to get ready for the darkness, Aimi. It doesn’t help if you’re focused on me,” he whispered.

The darkness…

**\--3--**

“It’s close now.” She was proud of how even and calm the words were. She was not so calm, but perhaps she could fool him, even with all of the machines monitoring every aspect of her.

“It’s close,” he agreed. His fingers tapped against buttons with a lover’s touch again. The strain had gone. Sadness lingered in lines etched in his brow. She didn’t like those lines. They made him look different.

“Paul… will I remember you?” So much for the calm. His head jerked up, and she realized that the brightness of his eyes had grown.

**\--2--**

“I… hope so, Aimi,” he whispered. How could his voice sound so very broken?

“That answer suggests ‘no.’” She tried to keep the anger out of her voice. There wasn’t time left. She couldn’t let the last thing he remembered be anger. She couldn’t let the last words she spoke be anger.

“We don’t know, Aimi,” Paul sighed. It was a different sigh from the previous one. It was heavier, and more pained. His hand hovered over the large red button in one corner of the console. His fingers were shaking slightly.

**\--1--**

“Is there a log of our time?” she asked. The darkness was so close now… The thought was overshadowing her conversation, but she had to make these last moments count.

“Of course there is,” Paul said, blinking. “Why?”

“You can erase it, if it hurts too much.” She meant the words to be kind. She was proud of the fact that the bitterness was concealed under layers of concern. “If you don’t want to remember, that’s okay.”

“I want to remember, Aimi,” he whispered. His hands were clutching the console so tightly that his knuckles were white. “I want to remember you.”

“I’d like that.” Her words were so muted that he could barely hear her, even in the silence of the room. “I’ll miss you, Paul.”

**\--0--**

“I’ll miss you, too, Aimi.” The words clogged his throat as he pressed the button, and the lights in the room flickered. The console in front of him went dark, and across the room, a screen clicked on. In it, he could see the spaceship outside powering up. At last, after nearly fifteen minutes, two lines of text appeared on his console screen.

**\--ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE MODULE 1 HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED--  
\--SHIP COMPUTER NOW OPERATIONAL--**

“Goodbye, Aimi,” he whispered, touching the console briefly before reaching out to tap a final command into the console. One final line of text followed the two.

**\--AIM1 CONVERSATION LOG: ERASED--**


End file.
